Kreuz
by Shila
Summary: After a long time with Schwarz, Schuldig strikes out into another world, gets into trouble, and meets a man unlike any other. YAOI! AU, for NaNoWriMo. Please R


Alright, this only counts as fanfiction because, sadly, I don't own Schuldig. sigh Other than that, this is a hurt/comfort rape slash fic in an AU borrowing somebody else's character (Cross isn't mine!). It's for http/ where you write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. Hopefully this will be finished and posted before that time is up. so, yeah. Enjoy. Please review!

Chapter One: "I fucking hate this goddamned job."

The mission was not going too well so far. The target had dodged his initial ambush and was now fleeing like hell. For a moment Schuldig cursed his reputation, which got him the hardest jobs there were to find, but then he let it go and concentrated on running. Even in thick boots, in a forest in the middle of summer, he made very little sound, sharp eyes picking out tree roots that might have caught at his ankles and cost him precious time. Bloody FAST, he was, and it wouldn't take long for him to catch up to his prey. Of course, considering that his prey had four legs and hooves and was quick in and of itself, it was probably a good thing that his first shot had taken it in one leg, and its speed had been greatly reduced. Otherwise Schuld might not have been able to catch it at all.

But catch it he did, making one last leap through the wooded area, dodging leaves and outstretched branches with their thorns that clutched so eagerly to his duster. Unfortunately it was waiting for him.

Now, centaurs are usually amiable enough creatures - leave them alone, and they will leave you alone in return. But when you took one on, it would usually put its considerable wisdom to use in kicking the shit out of you.

And as one powerful hoof caught Schuldig's leaping body square in the chest, he realized that in this instance, 'kicking the shit out of you' was very, very literal.

Flying backward, he slammed into a tree with a choked groan, crumpling to the ground as the wind was knocked out of him completely. In a pile on the ground, he fimly registered that the thing was dancing closer and preparing to stomp on him; still trying to catch his breath he decided that it was time to break out the big guns. Lashing out with his telepathy, he blasted the thing's mind. If you have never heard a horse screaming, be very, very glad; it is a positively horrible sound and one that Schuldig's already ringing ears (impact like that with a solid oak can occassionally cause a concussion, and he half suspected he had one) did not appreciate in the slightest. Rearing back on its hind legs, the centaur pummeled the air and then toppled, one of its back legs still out of order. If the explosion in its humanoid brain had not managed to kill it by then, the landing certainly did; with a mighty crash it slammed to earth, several sharp branches stabbing into it as its human parts twisted in agony, the point where they met the horse bits ruptured.

Schuldig finally remembered how to breathe, and wheezed desperately. Then he coughed. Wrinkling his nose at the smell of viscera, he struggled to haul himself off the ground, cursing violently at the agonizing pain of what he recognized very well as broken ribs. A deep breath assured him no lungs had been punctured, but fuck if it didn't hurt like a bitch. Glaring at the still twitching centaur, he sneered. "They are so fucking paying me double for this," he muttered, leaning down with a grunt of pain. He used the monster's own hunting knife to saw the head from the neck, and by the time he was done he was really fucking hurting. Eventually, though, he had his grisly prize in hand, and began to pick his way back through the forest, slow and muttering curses in German with just about every step he took.

Somehow he was not attacked, though he certainly made no effort to hide his presence. He was broadcasting and he knew it, all of his rage, pain, and disgust shouted out from his mind for a mile radius. All animals were steering very clear, and there weren't many people - check that, there weren't really any at ALL - anywhere near here. So it was with growling and many curses that he stomped on, occasionally shaking the centuar's head and directing his insults at the twisted face. "See, you little bastard, if you hadn't pissed him off in the first place, we could have AVOIDED all of this, but no, you had to be a fucking revolutionary and try to stand against him. Well now you're gonna be a fucking mantelpiece decoration. How's that for revolution?"

He continued on like this for a long time, eventually blocking out the throbbing ache of broken ribs and countless bruises. He half suspected he'd managed to dislocate a shoulder in the fall, too, but as he could still move it he eventually ruled that out as sulky, but untrue.

By the time he got anywhere, the sky was lightening in the east, false dawn making some of the stars fade. In the predawn light he approached the inn, quiet and still at this hour. Small dark windows stared out over the circle of packed earth, empty and quiet. A hint of fog clung to the ground, a few delicate trailers reaching up to the second story windows. Ivy had long since conquered the structure, reaching up to wrap around the chimney, arc onto the roof, and work its way into the mortar between the dark brown bricks, making it look as though the great green earth herself was attempting to swallow the entire structure. It was inviting and cozy looking, a thin wisp of smoke rising from the chimney to indicate the first pan of bread for the morning, and one had to imagine that, during the day, it would look even more promising, lit up and echoing with laughter, the smells of stew and fresh bread coming from it.

To the telepath, it held a bustling air; plenty of people passed through here, travelers and wanderers, adventurers and their companions. The forward motion of their mindsets, the cheerful looking forward to the sunset attitude had sunk into the bricks, and the whole place had a very bright and promising manner. So it was, as he tugged open the door and slipped inside, that he was a bit surprised by the sudden spike of malicious malignance that struck him full in the face. Damnit, why did his boss have to be such an ass?

"Schuldig," came the quiet, smooth voice. The man was seated at the empty bar; at this hour the place was just about deserted, anyone who had been here overnight still sleeping off the effects of their overindulgence in the beds overhead.

"Hadiran," Schuldig muttered, wobbling over to him. The flaming red-orange banner of his hair was matted with leaves after his fall; there were burrs clinging to his green duster and he looked decidedly unhappy. "Here is your fucking centaur," he spat, shoving the head at Hadiran.

Tall, graceful, and blonde, Hadiran made a face that expressed no small amount of distaste for the crudeness of his minion. "I take it your mission was a success?" he murmured, cold blue gaze sweeping over Schuldig's body, taking in the huge bruise on his chest where the centaur had caught him front and center, to where there were bruises spattered over him thanks to his fall. Dirty, angry, and crass. Why had he hired the human? Oh, yes, because he was the best. That, and he was quite beautiful, when clean. Hadiran had a few plans along those lines, most of which Schulid was completely averse to. Schuld had taste, and it excluded lawful evil elves who wanted to take over the world.

For now, though, none of that mattered. He thunked the centaur's head down onto the bar, its dark hair matted with blood and the stump mostly clotted over by now. "Pay up. I'm done," Schuld ordered.

Hadiran surveyed him for a long moment before shrugging. "I might have other jobs for you," he hedged, but handed him the pouch that contained his earnings. It was easy enough for Schuld to ascertain that yes, he was not lying, that the right amount was in the bag, and he smirked.

"We'll see about that. For now, though, I'm out of comission." And with that, he stalked toward the stairs, leaving Hadiran to stuff the head into a bag with a bit of a cringe for the smell.

As Schuldig stomped up the stairs, though, he passed someone on his way down, and he had to do a double-take. Handsome, smiling, with sunset red hair and warm black eyes... and one of the calmest, quietest minds Schuldig had ever run into. He was still busy staring when the stranger's smile widened. "Hey," Cross said, for that was his name. Schuldig plucked it out of his head, jolted from his ogling, and managed to offer a grin in return.

"Yo," he said, and might have said something else if he hadn't picked up on the next train of thought. The stranger had noticed his injuries and wasn't being all wincy about it, though the thought crossed the other man's mind to... have tea sent up to him? Aww, that was sweet. Nice, mentally calm, AND hot. Definitely his type, Schuldig mused, turning to watch the other continue on down the stairs. Nice rear view. And that odd slant to those endless black eyes, gave him a nice mischevious look... maybe he'd still be around later, and Schuldig could more properly introduce himself. With that thought to bring a wide grin to his face, he wended his way up the stairs, resolutely ignoring the pain of cracked ribs as he slipped down to his usual room.

Empty, of course, and he made a perimieter check before finally collapsing into the bed to get some bloody fucking SLEEP. Oddly enough, though, before he drifted off, there was a knock on the door. A barmaid came in with hot water, a cup, and... yes. Tea. Schuldig might have laughed if it hadn't hurt so damned bad to do so. He shooed her off, drank some tea, and then promptly passed out, experiencing some truly bizarre dreams about himself, Cross, and Hadiran in weird costumes and having a tea party. "Move down, move down, clean cup, clean cup," he mumbled in his sleep, and finally fell silent.

Chapter Two: "So... wanna fuck?"

The next evening, the tall redhead sauntered down the stairs, into the common room of the inn, flame colored hair falling in a blinding riot to his waist. Tight black jeans outlined lean, strong legs, thick black combat boots thunking on the floor as he paused to assess his surroundings with the gaze of a killer. A floating green duster settled around his shoulders, the scarred, tanned skin of his chest peeking through. A massive, very purple bruise took up most of his chest, the worst of it in a circular shape, and drew a few sympathetic winces from the occasional patron who glanced his way. As his cold jade eyes scanned the room with a wry resignation, a wicked little smirk curved his lips as he lounged easily on his feet. Yeah, pity away. They wouldn't give half of a shit if they knew he was a killer, a murderer, and assassin. Little people with their little minds, same thing day in and day out. He struck an imposing figure as he wove his way through the crowd to the bar, seating himself on a stool and spinning to lean back against the counter. It was easier to watch like this, and watch Schuldig did, those sparkling green eyes glowing in the dim light of the tavern. After last night, he felt more than entitled to a calm night of drinking, smoking, and recovery.

He pulled out a cigarette, looking somewhat bored as the slender cancer stick spun in his fingers only to land between his lips. The end of the cylinder burst into flame with no outside aid as the pathogen breathed deeply of his poison, never ceasing his bored assessment of the tavern's patrons, the fingers of one hand drumming on his thigh as the other held his cigarette aloft, smoke coiling lazily toward the ceiling, drifting slowly as he watched, resemling a bored panther regarding prey as it sauntered by. Not a single one of them was worth five seconds of his interest, minds as normal and boring as they got. But there, one that was slightly familiar, and DIFFERENT, that got his attention.

Not too far from him was seated the same smiling young man he had nearly collided with last night on the stairs, with chin-length sunset red hair and slanted eyes that lent him a feline, mischevious look to a handsomely tanned face. Eyes as black as coal were somehow warm, and the sword at his waist was well loved and used. Dressed in white and red, one Cross Aladriss surveyed the redhead with a modicum of interest. Oh, yes, now there was something special. A calm mind - not stupidly quiet, no, but controlled, disciplined, and not constantly broadcasting inane little idiotic pieces out into the air where -he- got to hear them. Not one pass up on that sort of opportunity, Schuldig glanced over at him and broke into a wide, teasing smirk. "You do know what they say about us redheads, don't you?"

Cross rolled his eyes, but the hint of a smile touched his lips.. "They say a LOT about redheads. Would you care to be more specific?"

"That they're blondes who haven't had the fire fucked out of them yet," Schuldig answered with a smile, feral and lazy all at once.

Cross smirked, not at all intimidated by this would-be predator. "I like that fire right where it is, thanks. And yours is probably fine too."

The smirking one let out a laugh. "You certainly do have a sharp sense of humour," he grins. "I like that in a man."

"I like it in me too," Cross returned, the smirk widening a hint. "You don't look much better than the last time I saw you," he added, recalling the sight of the German on the stairs last night, bruised and rumpled.

"Nothing that killing a few people and devouring a few minds won't fix," Schuldig waved off his injuries as superficial. Unfortunately, it was rather obvious that he was still a bit out of it, as he was still very pale and bruised. At least now Schuldig had had a chance to shower, clean up, and sleep some of the pain off, though there wasn't much he could do about those cracked ribs, except let them heal.

Whatever had happened to him was certainly still making itself felt, but Cross thought he remembered them being much worse the day before when they'd passed on the stairs. Cross rolled his eyes. "Glad to know you place a high value on human life," he said flippantly, since he really couldn't judge. He was a mercenary, after all. "Well, I suppose I'm glad you're feeling better.

"I'm an assassin. And humans are stupid and the herd could definitely use some culling." He looks up at Cross, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. "I -do- kind of owe you, you know," he mutters.

"For what?" Cross wondered, one sunset red eyebrow lifting a bit.

"For that tea, last night. Was a pleasant surprise. Gave me weird dreams, but it was pretty nice of you," Schuldig smiled wryly.

Cross shook his head. "The cost of tea is two coppers. It's a negligable debt. Besides, anyone with a sense of decency would have done it."

"Well it's more the thought than the actual gift," he grins. "And besides, anyone with a sense of decency would have left -me-, of all people, to bleed."

"But I don't know you, so I wouldn't have known that," Cross pointed out. "And I happen to believe that everyone, regardless of who they are, is deserving of help if they ask for it, or accept it when offered. You know what they say... the gods will eventually sort us all out anyway."

"Yeah, fuck 'em all and let the gods sort 'em out... some such nonsense," Schuldig smirked, jade eyes glittering. "And I suppose you have a point. If you had known me - which you still don't, at least not very well - you probably would have just forgotten you'd ever seen me, or tried to, at least. You should have, really..."

Cross blinked at him, a bit confused. "But I didn't. So why are we even discussing it? It's not as though I could change the past even if I wanted to, which I don't. And I don't regret it." His lips curved into a smirk. "I don't believe in regrets."

"No regrets, nu-uh," he mutters, shaking his head. He appeared to be almost drunk, but it didn't much matter; he was pretty much always drunk or high or something. Glancing up at Cross, he offered the slightest hint of a sheepish smile, a little curious as to why the man had really seen necessary to help him out. "So... uhh... thanks, I guess. Name's Schuldig, by the way."

Cross smirked and nodded serenely. "You're welcome, Schuldig. Cross Aladriss," he said by way of introduction, and they clasped wrists.

"So... wanna fuck?" Schuld as usual... straight to the point.

Cross raised an eyebrow. "Actually, I think I'll pass on that. You don't look like you quite have your head together and I try not to take advantage of people."

"Aw damn," Schuldig muttered, seeming to pout just a little. Creepy, to see a bad assed assassin who could literally blow your head off just by THINKING about it pouting. "Well, I gotta try," he grinned, looking up at Cross with what were supposed to be innocent jade eyes. Fortunately, Cross had not been born yesterday and knew that that innocence was a big fat crock of shit, and he smirked.

"Well, I'm flattered, so thank you." Then Cross returned to drinking his ale, apparently content with the conversation as it had gone.

Schuldig snorted. "Yeah, yeah. So much for that idea. Not sure I'm up to it," he muttered, then shrugged.

Eventually, Cross rose, quaffing the last of his ale and saluting, wandering off to hie his delicious (in Schuldig's mind, anyway) ass back to his mercenary company. Odd, that a man like that was a mercenary. He seemed too... well, nice, really. Not so much nice, but good humored.

Gods only knew what was wrong with Schuld, because he rose to follow. "I wasn't done hitting on you, you know," he protested.

Cross paused, rolling his eyes. "And I told you I wasn't going to sleep with you!"

A convincing and yes, still creepy, pout crossed Schuld's face. "Not even a make out session? I'm a -really- good kisser..."

Cross just smirked. "Thanks, but really, I'm not comfortable with having somebody in my head."

"Aww, come on, I'll stay out of your head," Schuld avowed, though a small part of him had to wonder just how Cross knew. Schuld never tried to hide it, but he hadn't made any obvious displays lately, either. "...but not out of your pants," he added with a smirk, advancing on Cross with a hungry look on his sharply featured face. Then he pounced.

"From what I've seen, you don't have much of a choice... ACK!" Cross was in the process of attempting to speak, but was foied, and tried to dodge only to end up sprawled across the floor under the smirking German, who took the opportunity to steal a kiss.

Shaking his head, Cross sighed from his position pinned underneath Schuldig. "This is the third time this week I've been in this position and I'm beginning to hate it," he informed the German conversationally.

"You wanna be on top?" Schuldig offered generously, a wicked smile crossing his face.

Cross sighed again and shook his head once more, squirming a little. "No offense, really, but I'm not in the mood." He struggled to get out from under.

Schuldig heaved a sigh, the pout returning, and moved, letting him up and rising to his own feet as well. "You'll be a tough nut to crack."

"No pun intended, I'm sure," Cross said dryly, dusting himself off and casting a smirk Schuld's way.

Schuldig blinked, then laughed, lifting one hand to rake it through his hair. "Actually, that time it -wasn't- intended," he smirks.

"I know. Which was why I brought it up... I can't stand to see an unintentional pun go to waste." Cross shook his head and headed to the bar. Alcohol would make everything better. He ordered an ale, which was handed over by the same barmaid who had been in Schuldig's room last night, and sipped at it contentedly.

"Wanna try something with a bit more of a kick?" Schuldig offered, smirking as he held out a small silvery flask that was probably dangerous in and of itself, not to mention whatever was IN it.

Cross shook his head. "I have simple tastes," he said as he tapped his mug of weak ale.

"That'll never get you anywhere," Schuldig said with a shrug and a grin as he took a long drink of the flask, almost cursing at the burn of it. Skydew was some potent shit; magical and typically the brew of deities for their parties, one drop of the stuff in a city's water supply could keep them all smashed for a month. What he had was phenomenally diluted, but still stronger than most whiskeys, and with a remarkably clear taste - it let you feel the burn all the more.

"Exactly. I'm not looking to get drunk," Cross pointed out, settling onto a stool to drink his ale. "Perhaps because I have the sneaky idea that if I were to get drunk, you'd be first in line to take advantage of me." He shot Schuld a knowing smirk.

"I most certainly would not! I want -you- willing and completely aware of every little touch..." Schuldig smirked. "Besides, I like my victims willing. Or screaming.One of the two. And you're not the screaming type.

Cross rolled his eyes and smiled. "Sorry, Schuld. No deal." He was almost flattered by the telepath's persistence.

"I gotta give it a shot," Schuldig sighed, leaning against the counter next to him with a wry grin.

Cross rolled his eyes once more; around Schuld it was proving to be a common reaction. "Not that my ego isn't enjoying the boost, but no you don't. Nobody's holding a gun to your head and telling you to seduce me."

"Nobody's stupid enough to put a gun to my head," Schuldig informed him practically. Then he grinned and ran a piercing gaze over Cross. "It's my instincts. The ones that tell me you'll be worth the effort."

Eyes drifting closed, Cross leaned back and smirked. "Yeah, well... okay, I'll agree with you there. General consensus is that I'm a hell of a lover. But I have enough self respect to choose my own partners.. and I'm not desperate enough to be a whore."

Schuldig sighed again and flopped onto a bar stool, the force of his impact causing it to make a half turn under his weight. "Definitely going to take time."

Cross shrugged, finished his ale, and stood to go. "Don't hold your breath while you wait, Schuld. Take care of yourself, all right?"

"Yeah, yeah..." Schuld sighed wistfully. "But..." He looked rather pitiful, casting a glance up at Cross, the pout once more curving his lips. It was a little disturbing how GOOD he was at pouting and sulking.

"But what?" Cross asked patiently, obliging Schuldig's apparent need for dramatics.

Schuld looked up, hope shining in those jade eyes. "Do you think maybe I could have just one kiss? Please?" He sounded a bit like a kid begging for candy, only marginally more perverted.

Cross looked like he was about to say no, then sighed. "I'm way, WAY too damned soft on gorgeous men," he muttered to himself, since it wouldn't have been any more private if he'd just thought it.

Perking up, Schuldig grinned brightly, really not having expected his fellow redhead to give in. He stood, stepping closer to Cross, lifting one hand and trailing a finger down his cheek.

Cross let out a sigh, then slid a hand along Schuld's face and into his hair, pulling him into a firm and heated kiss. His lips parted as he drew Schuld's breath, tasting him and holding that taste on his tongue for a moment before his teeth nibbled lightly at the other man's lower lip.

Schuldig melted into the kiss, tongue lapping at the other's lips as he struggled to keep coherent. Sometimes for him sex was almost blasé, but... Touching... my hair... was a bad idea... he sent telepathically. His mental voice sounded eerily shaky as his hands clutched a little desperately at the man's waist, holding him close while he himself dissolved into Schuld-putty.

Cross's fingers immediately pulled back, out of that flyaway, baby fine hair, depriving Schuldig of the dizzying, incredible sensation of being molested in that fashion. He didn't break the kiss, though, and his tongue slid along Shul's lips, then slipped deeper into his mouth, searching out his tongue and moving with it. And then he pulled away, sucking briefly on his lower lip before releasing it and stepping back. "There," he said quietly. "Happy now?"

The kiss was positively delicious, hot and sweet and all too short. When it ended, he stands there in shock for a moment, one hand coming to touch his swollen lips. Damn shame Cross had ended it too soon. Schuldig had had all of these plans about owning that kiss, and making the other redhead the one to melt... well shit. No luck there. But for once he got the impression that maybe it wouldn't have been so bad to let somebody else pull the strings. "Y-yeah," he murmured, mind completely blown.

Cross couldn't hold back a smirk, as he nodded. "Good." He stepped back, hands shoved into

"Bye," Schuldig got out dizzily, still in shock.

Cross tossed him a wink and a wave, and then the door shut behind him, the night swallowing his graceful figure.

Schuldig threw himself back onto the stool, flopping over onto the counter on his back, staring up at the ceiling and completely oblivious to the idea that he was dragging his hair over the extremely dubious countertop. "Hot damn... he -will- be worth the effort."

Chapter Three: "Yeah, I changed my mind, let's do it!"

Later that night, Cross had returned for some reason or another; his mercenary band had not yet moved and he had hoped to get another mug or two of ale before retiring out under the open stars. When he walked in, though, he spotted Schuldig still at the bar. Pausing, a hint of apprehension crossed his face, but Schuld didn't give him a chance to change his mind and flee.

Smiling sweetly, the German rose with a panther like grace, sauntering over to where Cross stoof to plant a light, teasing kiss on his cheek. "Knew you couldn't keep away," he purred, grinning.

Cross glanced at the ground and smirked a little. "Right. So... I'm sure you'll be happy to know that after some extensive thought on the subject of sleeping with you, I changed my mind."

"Really?" Schuldig chirped, perking up and tilting his head to the side as his bright hair fell over one shoulder. "Why?"

Cross shrugged, declining an explanation. "There are a lot of reasons. I don't really feel like discussing them."

Schuldig pouted slightly, crossing his arms over his chest and looking for all the world like a petulant child. It might have been a great deal more disturbing if anyone had really seen him at work; reconciling the pitiful, pretty little redhead here with the blood smeared laughing killer would take one hell of a mental dichotomy. "Tell me... pleeease?" His puppy eyes were very convincing, huge, green and irresistably begging.

Cross smiled and shook his head, a little amused by the redhead. Schuldig decided he liked that; he was surprised to note he was almost getting tired of everyone being afraid of him. "It's none of your business, gorgeous," he said teasingly. "Do you want to fuck or not?"

Schuldig narrowed one eye at the man. "Well, yeah," he said casually, still intent on ferreting out the reason for the change of opinion. He might have just plucked it from Cross' head, but he really didn't want to. "But I don't like to spread without a reason."

Smirking, Cross spread his hands. "Your reason is the same damned reason we've been working with since the beginning... I'm hot and you want to fuck me, you're hot and I want to fuck you. It's real simple."

Pursing his lips, Schuldig considered that for a long moment before shrugging and smiling brightly. "That works," he says with a cheerful grin. "But I'll take a raincheck for the time being." And with that, he darted off, a fleeting, primal shadow. He DID have business to tend to, after all; Hadiran had corralled him today with the promise of one last job for an INCREDIBLE amount of money, and he was still in town. Most of his wounds had fixed themselves, Pathogen being possessed with hyperactive metabolisms, and he could handle just about anything, or so he felt. And besides, he got the distinct impression that Cross would still be around by the time he was done.

Cross rolled his eyes. "Yeah," he murmured dryly, "let's not lose our focus now... sex is sex is sex..."

Chapter Four: "THIS IS NOT IN THE FUCKING JOB DESCRIPTION!" Next! yay


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